Remembering
by morning sunlight
Summary: What is worth remembering about the life you have led so far?
1. Chapter 1

**Remembering – Chapter One

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**Disclaimer**: Nothing 'Supernatural' belongs to me. I've just borrowed and not for profit.

**Rating**: Tame - so far no death or violence or swearing or sex (doesn't sound too hopeful does it? How can it be about the Winchesters?)

**Summary**: What is worth remembering about the life you have led so far?

**Author's Note**: I hope those who take the time to read this like it. This is the first chapter of four and I am amending this note as I have just finished. The other chapters will involve more 'personal' interaction with the boys so will, I think, feel different to this chapter. This is my first longer story - have only been posting a few weeks and have stuck to fairly short one-shots until now. Given that I would love for you to let me know how I've got on. Thank you to those who have already reviewed.

I would be grateful for reviews and constructive comments – after all, I aim to please and I don't know if I'm doing that without, do I?

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_**Chapter One**_

Two men travel the country. Home is the car they live from. An Impala – classy, good sound to the engine, decent trunk space and the best ride you can get when you've got Led Zeppelin playing loud.

Home sometimes too literally. Their most important worldly possessions fit in the car and when times are really tough, they live, eat and sleep in that car.

Both men have at times lost everything but each other to fire so they know what's important and how flammable possessions are. 'Don't get attached to it,' is what the elder says. The younger nods in agreement. The elder turns away hiding the look in his eye that says, 'I'm lying, sometimes you need something to remind you why.'

'Why what?' a stranger might ask and if the elder were to answer, which in truth, he probably wouldn't, he's not a chick flick kind of guy, he would say 'Why live. Why keep going. Why we do this. Why even this life is better than none.'

So what do these two men keep in that trunk space in the Impala, I hear that stranger ask. What is important to men like these? Well, between you and I, there's a secret compartment (just in case the law should need to look in the trunk, you understand). These aren't bad men you know, but for such good men, they do own an awful lot of weaponry; shotguns, pistols, rifles, bows, even swords, knives and stakes. It's hard to explain them away when talking to lawmen and trying to convince they mean no harm. Nonetheless, they are prepared. 'For what?' might be asked, 'Armageddon?'

Of a sort. Both men would agree they are prepared to fight evil. That is after all why they travel the country and live from the Impala.

'Why would they choose that life?' the stranger might wonder. Choose, no. Men like these are chosen: they don't choose this life. The younger one can attest to this – after all he chose 'normal'. He chose college, girlfriend, a law degree but this life pursued him, it hunted him down and found him where he hid in 'normal'. The elder knew already, he didn't fight the inevitable. Instead he threw himself into it, convinced himself he had made it his own.

So weapons in the trunk then, that can't be all. No, not all. A duffle bag each of clothes and a first aid kit, charms, a few books and three journals. Books – readers then… not exactly, I explain… Research materials: a bible, folklore, exorcisms, that sort of thing. The journals? One for each of the men and one from their father. Interesting stuff in them? I wouldn't know about our two men, they're tight-lipped and secretive about their own journals but their father's is their guiding source, a fountain of knowledge for dealing with all things evil.

So nothing spectacular in there then. Nothing that really tells us much about the lives of our two men. There is, however, tucked away hidden by toolkits, first aid kits, charms and bags, a box belonging to the elder of the two men. He doesn't often get it out and never in front of his brother. Who knows if his brother even knows it exists, but the elder knows that when the time comes, his brother will find it and will open it to see what is inside. He only hopes it will help when the time comes.

So what's inside the box? Two birth certificates, genuine, one for each man (proof of who they really are), some photos; the men as babies with family, some of their parents and grandparents; one school report for the elder and several for the younger, some folded paintings the younger had brought home from school when he was small, a couple of birthday cards each had made for the other; years when there had been no real presents but they had still marked the days even though their father missed it. The last thing in the box is an envelope marked 'To Whom It May Concern – Open Only in the Event of The Death of the Owner'.

'This tells us who they are?' says the stranger. It tells us what the elder thinks is important for the younger to remember about who they are when the time comes. The key to it lies in the envelope but the contents will only be known to anyone other than the elder when the time comes.

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Author's Note: Chapter two is written but needs typing up so shouldn't be too long. Sam is the major player in the next part. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Remembering – Chapter Two**

**Disclaimer**: Nothing 'Supernatural' belongs to me. I've just borrowed and not for profit.

**Rating**: Tame

**Summary**: What is worth remembering about the life you have led so far?

**Author's Note**: I hope those who take the time to read this like it. Thank you to WinchestersGirl, Rozzy07, and Tezpin for their kind comments on chapter one.

And so on we go to this chapter. This is the second chapter of four. This chapter is more directly involved with more 'personal' interaction with Sam. It could be set partially during 'Faith' but could be another time unspecified.

I continue to be grateful for reviews and constructive comments – it's good to know if I'm on the right track. Thank you for taking the time to read my scribblings.

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_**Chapter Two**_

Sam has been in the trunk of the Impala often enough to know just about everything that's in there and where each item is stored and how Dean is fanatical about keeping everything exactly so. It had always amazed him that Dean, the same Deanwho stuffed clothes haphazardly into his bag with no thought to flat or crease free, could be so obsessive about the trunk of his car. Until the day Dean sent him in a hurry to find the book with just the right Latin exorcism in it and just the right dagger for the occasion. Sam had grabbed both without a thought. It was later that he realised how instinctual it had been; he had known where they were, he hadn't needed to waste time looking. He was grateful that it had been Dean's turn to sort the trunk last because he'd just never found the enthusiasm to be quite as thorough as his brother. He understood the point now and could forgive Dean this particular obsession; he still needed to work on the music though.

Sam knew what was in the trunk; that meant he knew about Dean's box. He had known for ages really. He'd dislodged it one day when sorting the trunk but had carefully put it back,clearly it was something Dean wanted kept private but Sam was curious nonetheless. Often tempted, he resisted until…

Until Dean was in hospital, dying. Sam thought why not, maybe there'd be some more contacts – he'd found some going through Dean's journal. It had made difficult reading and he had skipped through as much as possible, feeling he was intruding – it wasn't like Dad's journal which had become a record of who, where and what. Dean's journal was the real Dean. Sam had never realised how much of a façade Dean's life was, how vulnerable his brother was underneath the brash exterior. So that night, he'd taken the box into the motel room and opened it, wondering what he'd find inside.

He'd been surprised to find his and Dean's birth certificates. It was as if Dean was saying no matter what we've said or done, I still know who we really are. Pictures; him, mum, Dean, dad, even their grandparents. Dean saying this is what we were, where we came from. Paintings; he recognised them. He had brought them home, proud, as presents for his Dad and his brother. Dad had always said 'Thank you, Sammy' and put them to one side, but Dean had always put them up on the fridge, the door, the bedroom wall and made a fuss. Sam smiled at the memory. He might be a jerk, but he'd been a good brother too.

The home-made birthday cards, he never realised Dean had kept them. He remembered the times when that had been almost the only thing that had marked a birthday, years when in Dean's words, 'Dad just can't do the birthday right now, Sammy; but don't worry, we'll do it – just you and me.' He'd always made sure Sam had a card, a cake (sometimes just a cupcake) and something as a present. He thought fondly of the year when, with Dad away and money running short, Dean had given him a jar of liquid and a twisted loop of metal. He remembered the confusion he'd felt until Dean had shown him how to dip the loop in the mixture, bring it out and blow gently to get a stream of bubbles. A good memory, he thought. That's what this box is for: the good memories.

Sam smiled, pleased that Dean had kept these reminders of the good things. He'd almost forgotten but this had brought back those good memories. It hurt more though knowing Dean was lying in hospital dying. He put the school reports back in the box and fingered the envelope. Should he open it? Dean wasn't dead yet, would there be information that could keep him alive. Sam thought not, it was more likely instructions for what he wanted doing after… His thought went back to the conversation he'd had with Dean earlier in the day. He'd been talking about options and Dean had said,' Burial or cremation?' He shuddered, closed his eyes briefly, he didn't want to think about that now. He put the envelope back in the box and closed it. He didn't have time to waste on memories, good or bad. He had to concentrate on finding an answer. Dean had to live.

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**Author's Note:** next chapter is from John's point of view - now posted.


	3. Chapter 3

**Remembering – Chapter Three

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**Disclaimer**: Nothing 'Supernatural' belongs to me. I've just borrowed and not for profit.

**Rating**: Tame

**Summary**: What is worth remembering about the life you have led so far?

**Author's Note**: Thank you to all those people who have stuck with this story so far. This is the third chapter of four. This chapter belongs to John and his remembering of the past. My thoughts on John at the moment tend towards him as misguided – I have only seen as far as Nightmare at the time of writing so only have the information in 'Home' and 'Scarecrow' to go on as to what he is like. Only having seen as far as this episode I don't know if my events are plausible – I wanted a reason for Dean's change in attitude when he speaks to his Dad on the phone in 'Scarecrow' so that is where this comes from. Again it could be set partially during 'Faith' but could be another time unspecified. I continue to be grateful for reviews and constructive comments – it's good to know if I'm on the right track. Thank you for taking the time to read my scribblings.

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**_Chapter Three_**

John listened to the message on his voicemail. His boys asking for him again. He turned the message off; he didn't bother listening all the way through. It was hard enough as it was, he could barely remember a time when they hadn't been asking for something. The difference was that it used to bring him joy, now it was only pain.

John opened his wallet and took out the three well-worn photos. Punishment or reward; looking at the photos always made him think of how proud he was of his sons but how he had failed them. Would Mary ever have been able to forgive him for the life he had inflicted on them?

The first photo was of Mary, not long after they met, newly in love; he remembered the joy and exuberance of their life then, the smiles, laughter and confidence they both felt that life was good and they had a future together. More than twenty years had passed, and the memory of that feeling still twisted his insides making him feel sick.

The second photo is of the four of them outside their new home in Lawrence. Again he remembered the day it was taken, Mary and Dean's open laughter, Sam smiling as he was passed from one parent to the other, always looking and reaching for Dean, although the only time Dean was allowed to hold him was when he was sitting securely and Sam could be put safely in his arms. He remembered how Dean had been a livewire bouncing and laughing all round the house, running from place to place and coming back each time to tell Sammy about his latest discovery. Months later, it had all been over and John had not only lost his wife but his eldest son had been irreparably changed.

The final photo is of himself with the boys. He remembered the occasion; he had taken the boys fishing. Sam would have been 9 or 10 and Dean about 14. It was supposed to have been a relaxing weekend but now he remembered how hard the boys had worked all weekend trying their best to please him. The fishing had been fun to start with and both boys were enthusiastic, fortunately that had been when the photo was taken and so all three were smiling. It hadn't taken long before he had started to snap at the boys for being silly, when really the problem was that he had resented being there, resented not being out hunting; resented time given to his sons, what kind of father did that make him. The weekend had been supposed to be recuperation time after Dean had been hurt on their last hunt. He remembered now how because of his own behaviour the weekend had not ended as it should. The final straw was when Dean had been making Sam laugh and had been showing off and Sam had responded in kind only for John to shout something about growing up and acting their ages.

Sam had gone silent and withdrawn to a position on the other side of his brother with a 'Sorry Dad.' By contrast, Dean had stood his ground and let rip at his father asking exactly how old he thought they were and how were ten year olds supposed to act on a 'fun weekend'. Even now, thought of the emphasis Dean had put on the words 'fun weekend' sent shivers down John's spine.

He remembered Sammy stepping up to put his hand on Dean's arm and quietly saying his name. Dean's reaction had solidified the shivers in John's spine, 'No Sam. Dad promised. He **promised** that this time we would have a weekend, **just** a weekend to ourselves, to have fun, to relax, but it was too much to ask for. He didn't want to come. He didn't want us to come. He doesn't want us to know what it's like to be normal and to do '**normal'** things likes other families and the other kids at school are doing. Hey, we should just go, we aren't a normal family after all.' Dean had refused to even look John's way as he had packed up their fishing gear and started back towards the car with John and Sam watching him. John remembered how his words had struck home and how he had tried to apologise, but Dean had rejected it, rejected him.

Hindsight is a wonderful thing, how much would we do differently if we could. He remembered the ensuing month of ferocious arguments between himself and Dean. Sam had been an almost silent observer throughout, the rare occasions he spoke or joined in, he had sided with Dean.

And now finally, fourteen years later, John regretted what he had done at the end of that month, knew that above all his other bad decisions that one alone would outweigh all of the others together because it had been done with intent. He hadn't really wanted to hurt Dean, but he had wanted the arguments to stop, he wanted to get the focus back on the hunt for them all. There would be time when the hunt was over to make up for anything said. Fourteen years later, the hunt was still not finished, it was too late for him to think that he could ever make up to either son for the damage he had caused. Thanks to Dean, Sam might one day be able to go out into the world again and have a life but thanks to him, Dean was probably always going to be alone.

They had, despite the arguments, spent the rest of the month hunting, He had taken both Dean and Sam on all of those hunts, giving Dean the responsibility of not only helping him, but also of looking out for Sammy. The first two hunts had been fine. The third had followed a day's worth of exhausting arguments with Dean accusing John of not caring and finally stating that he wanted out, he wanted to go and stay with his aunt and uncle and he thought Sam should go too. That night's hunt had gone gravely wrong from the outset and Sam had been hurt. As they waited in the hospital for the doctor to bring news of Sam, John had done the worst he possibly could to Dean, an unforgivable act. John had told him it was his fault that Sam had been hurt, told him that if he had been focussed it would never have happened; told him that he had let his mother down, after all, hadn't he promised to look after Sammy; told him his aunt and uncle would never want him to stay, he was too much trouble. Basically, he had lied over and over again, thinking that if Dean calmed down and wasn't so fiery, he would make a great hunter and a sound back-up man, that he needed to focus and not be distracted by emotion. He had lied until the final remnant of child in Dean had given up and died.

Life had become easier and at the time, John had been grateful for the revived status quo, Dean, like when he was younger, no longer answered back or questioned his orders and had become a whole lot easier to manage. It was only now that John realised never again had Dean uttered a genuine heartfelt laugh, never cried or expressed a real emotion. He said things like, 'I'm happy…' or 'I'm pleased…' but might as well have been ordering soda at the local shop for the emotion evident in what he was saying. He had also never mentioned 'normal' again.

For John the photos were not a reminder of the good times when the pictures were taken, but reminded him instead of the ruin that was his life and how he had dragged his sons down with him.

He wondered if when the boys thought back if they had any good memories and if they did what they were and what prompted them to remember them.

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**Author's Note: **One final chapter to go, Dean's chapter and the contents of the envelope are revealed. I only hope they don't disappoint.


	4. Chapter 4

**Remembering – Chapter Four

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**Disclaimer**: Nothing 'Supernatural' belongs to me. I've just borrowed and not for profit.

**Rating**: Tame (use of the word 'hell' as an expletive a few times)

**Summary**: What is worth remembering about the life you have led so far?

**Author's Note**: Thank you to those who have reviewed so far. This is the final chapter and belongs to Dean. It could be set partially during 'Scarecrow' but could be another time unspecified with similar separation from Sam issues. I hope the contents of the envelope don't disappoint.

I continue to be grateful for reviews and constructive comments – it's good to know if I'm on the right track. Thank you for taking the time to read my scribblings.

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**_Chapter Four_**

Slamming the lid on the trunk, Dean walked back round to sit in the front of the Impala. He ran his fingers round the edge of the box, paused, and then opened the lid. Resigned to a future alone again, he leafed through the cards and pictures. A sad smile crossed his face as memories of each flickered past.

At the bottom of the box, he found what he was looking for. He took the envelope out and opened it. From that envelope fell two more; smaller ones; the first addressed to his father and the other to Sam at Stanford, along with them was a letter.

He scanned the letter: '_To whom it may concern. If you are reading this letter, the owner of the car and this box has died. It would be much appreciated if you could forward the two letters to the addresses on the envelopes. If you could also send this box or its contents to Sam Winchester, he will arrange to send you the cost of postage. Thanking you in advance. Dean Winchester_.'

There was nothing else that could be said. Dean had to be prepared, if he died alone, he wanted Sam and Dad to know he had gone and he wanted Sam to have some good memories. God knows they all had more than enough bad ones. They'd all spent long enough hunting the demon, he didn't want them to be needlessly searching for him too. If he wasn't well enough to sort it out himself, then he figured it would be as well that he were dead or that they thought he was.

He picked up the envelope to his Dad and thought back to when he had written both letters and what he had wanted to say to his Dad. He didn't need to open it to know what he had written and he didn't need to open it because he didn't have anything else to say now. It boiled down to 'I've gone, I'm sorry. I know I was a failure but I tried to do all you wanted. I hope you can forgive me.' What more could he say to his father, nothing else had changed. Maybe one day, things would be better and he would re-write that one but for now, he needed to change the letter to Sam. There were things he needed for Sam to know when the time came…

He ran his fingers over the envelope flap. If nothing else, the address needed changing, after all, thanks to him, Sam wasn't at Stanford anymore. He supposed he would have to change it to the same box office address as his dad. There would be no other way of getting in touch. Maybe, once Sam had found Dad, it would be different. He'd probably go back to Stanford but in case anything happened in the meantime, he had to make arrangements.

He tore Sam's envelope open, releasing the letter onto his lap. Scanning the letter, he realised it didn't say anywhere near enough. He thought back again to that first hunt alone, no Dad, no Sam, just Dean; that was when these letters had been written. He'd been scared; he hadn't said anything to his father before leaving but he just wasn't sure he could do it on his own. He was angry, Sam had left, he'd had to do all the research alone, knowing that it would have taken half the time with Sam to help and even with it done, he lacked faith in his own skills to be sure he hadn't missed anything. His anger, he realised now, was more to do with his own belief he couldn't manage than with Sam for having left. He'd sat the afternoon before the hunt and written both letters fully expecting not to come out alive.

Getting back to the car that night, more or less intact, had been an unexpected surprise. He'd taken the box and hidden it in the trunk. Whilst that hunt had given him some faith in his ability to survive without his Dad and brother, he'd never felt confident that he would last long alone.

Now here he was alone again, he had stuff he needed to say to Sam. He should write a new letter.

Decision made, he rummaged through the glove compartment for a pen and opened his journal to start writing.

_Dear Sam,_

_To get the mundane out of the way, please could you arrange to cover the cost of postage for the person who sent this and the boxto you? I don't know who it will be but I kind of asked them and said you would see them right. Sorry, bro!_

_On now to what I suppose is the important stuff. You know me, I've never been any good at this stuff but I need you to know this. I know if I didn't need to get this written before I forget something I would spend some more time thinking up the words to try and make myself sound more intelligent like you, but hey dude, you're the one with the college education._

_First off, that college education, I know I never really said it but you did well, I was proud of you. You always were one smart kid. I don't know if you are still with Dad but you should go back to that. You should do 'normal'; this is no life for you: you can get out. You have got the smarts and to be honest 'normal' suited you. I know I've been saying the opposite for months now, but hell, even I can admit I'm wrong occasionally – given the given, if you're reading this, I'm not going to be making a habit of it. I was being selfish; I liked having you with me. Sometimes, I missed you when you were at Stanford. You weren't so bad for a little brother._

_I need you to know that I'm sorry about what happened to Jess. Hell I wish I'd never come to get you, maybe it would never have found Jess if I hadn't been to yours. I'm sorry, Sam. I wish it could have been different._

_I'm sorry you didn't get more time with Mum, she loved you. I don't remember much about when we were small, but what I do remember is how much Mum would smile when she looked at you. She loved you so much._

_I'm sorry for all the times you've got hurt, all the times I failed to protect you. I never meant to let you down. When Mum brought you home for the first time, she said to me, it was my job to look after you and to keep you happy. I tried Sam, but sometimes, after Mum died, I just didn't know what to do, how to make you happy. When you grew andyou and Dad argued, I just couldn't find any way to keep the peace. I couldn't show either of you what the other was feeling. I let you all down._

_I want you to know that for me, this life wasn't so bad. I liked saving people, destroying evil – a secret superhero complex (or maybe you would say it was not so secret). It was something I understood, something I could do. Like I said, not so bad._

_One last thing, there's not much more I can say really, I'm sorry for all the times I should have told you I was proud of you and that I loved you, little brother. Know that I did even though I didn't say it. If you settle down and have kids, don't be afraid to tell them you're proud and you love them. Really there is a time and place for the 'chick flick moments'; I'm sorry Dad and I never got a grip on that._

_Have a good life, Sam. Take care, little brother._

_Dean_

Tearing the pages out of his journal, he folded them and put them in a new envelope and addressed it before putting it back into the larger envelope and resealing it. With finality, he put the envelope in the box, closed the lid and put it back in the trunk.

Closing the trunk, he climbed back into the car and headed off on this latest job.He hoped that the letters would remain unread and that he would get to see Sam and his Dad again firstbut he needed to be certain that he was prepared when the time came...

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**Author's Note** – As this is the first longer piece, I have written and finished, I really would appreciate some feedback so I know whether to continue or whether just to return to the little fics. Here's me typing with my fingers crossed, hoping that you will have read to the end and enjoyed it. 


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